


Burn

by leere



Series: Shit I Write On Tumblr [7]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6014092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leere/pseuds/leere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous asked: Pete and patrick getting into a fight that ends up with pete leaving...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr today. Have some sad fic to make your Valentine's Day better lmfao.  
> Anonymous asked: Pete and patrick getting into a fight that ends up with pete leaving an patrick gets really worried and he leaves pete voicemails and he's crying in some of them. pete listens to the messages late at night and goes home an see patrick asleep on the couch looking distressed even in his sleep and his face is red and blotchy from crying and pete feels like a fucking asshole.

It was over something totally stupid, the TV show that was on or something equally ridiculous, but it quickly escalated into a red-faced screaming match, and now Pete’s driving around aimlessly, distant city lights blurry through his teary eyes. He’s crying out of frustration, mostly; anger at himself for starting a fight out of such a petty little thing, and anger at Patrick for letting Pete egg him on.

He pulls over at some point and checks his phone, sitting on the side of the road and listening to the frantic messages Patrick’s left him. “Pete, please come home,” he says in one, sounding close to tears. “I fucking hate when you disappear like this, you know that. I’m worried sick, I don’t know if you drove off a bridge or something, you crazy motherfucker.” He takes a few deep, shuddering breaths, and Pete listens with a heavy heart. “Just come home, Pete. I love you and I’m sorry.” Patrick’s voice cracks a little and Pete’s heart does, too.

The next one, he’s full on crying, but there’s anger in his tears. “Pete, I’m not fucking playing, you asshole, I’ll call the goddamn cops, I swear to God. Come home now. Please. I miss you and I love you and I’m so worried, Pete, you have no idea.” Pete wants to cry when Patrick chokes up. “I’m sorry.” He’s silent for a moment, and then he hangs up. Pete rubs his eyes, smearing last night’s, maybe even last week’s, eyeliner, and runs shaking hands through his greasy hair.

He drives himself home eventually, after burning eighty percent of what was a full tank of gas, figuring it’s been long enough. It’s two am; Patrick’s either passed out by now, or he’s curled up on the couch, watching the show he wanted to watch in the first place and waiting up for Pete.

The windows are dark when he pulls into the driveway, and when he walks in through the front door, it’s pitch dark, save for the moonlight coming in through the glass back door. Patrick’s asleep on the couch, curled up on his side, blanket and dog draped over him. Penny’s black eyes gleam when she lifts her head to look at Pete from where she’s perched on Patrick’s hip. Pete falls to his knees in front of Patrick, so he’s level with his slumbering face. His features look soft and pretty under the moonlight, as they always do, but Pete’s sees his face is tinged pink and his eyelashes are damp; he’d been crying for a while, all the way up to just a few minutes before, probably. Pete touches gentle fingers to Patrick’s cheek, and he twitches in his sleep, mouth twisting and eyebrows coming together. Pete’s fingers move up to ease the crease in his brow, and Patrick’s eyes flutter open.

“Pete?” he whispers, voice hoarse because he’d been screaming earlier.

“Yeah, baby,” Pete says softly, and Patrick eyes well up with tears once more - he made him cry again, damnit, Pete hates seeing Patrick cry and it’s ten times worse when Patrick’s crying because of him - and he opens his arms. 

The couch isn’t made for two, even for guys as little as they are, but they make it work, legs intertwined, Pete vaguely hoping he doesn’t fall off at any point. Patrick’s got a hand in his hair, petting it again and again, like he’s convincing himself Pete’s actually there.

Pete presses his face into Patrick’s neck, feels his warmth and listens to his heartbeat thump in his chest. Everything’s musical about him, Pete thinks. Even the beat of his heart.

“Please don’t leave me,” Patrick murmurs into Pete’s hair. “Never again, please, Pete. Don’t ever fucking leave me.”

“Shh, baby,” Pete whispers, sliding an arm around Patrick’s waist so he can pull him even closer. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Sleep now.” 

Patrick does.


End file.
